


V.I.C.

by PieceOfCait



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffeeshop AU, M/M, Pining Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 01:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18085106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieceOfCait/pseuds/PieceOfCait
Summary: A Coffeeshop AU in which Enjolras is having A Day and Grantaire is having Some Feelings.





	V.I.C.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [Shitpostingfromthebarricade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/pseuds/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade) once again for her superb beta reading skills!  
> We had a Hemingway Workshop last week to tackle a selection of prompts, and this is the one I liked enough to finish!
> 
> Prompt was:  
> "Fabulous!"  
> "Unless I reconsider."  
> "Not fabulous."
> 
> (I also made an illustration to go with this fic, which can be found [here](https://thepiecesofcait.tumblr.com/post/183398812926/apparently-i-cant-publish-fics-without).)

Grantaire can always tell how busy his favourite coffee shop has been by how frizzy the barista’s hair is when he swings by near closing.

Today is about an eight out of ten. It’s not the frizziest he’s seen it, but it hasn’t been over a four in weeks so it takes him a little by surprise. The man in question - a stern-faced blond with a jawline that would make lesser men sob - seems as frazzled as his hair suggests. Dark shadows rest under his eyes, two patches of red sit high on his cheeks, his uniform collar is askew, there’s powdered chocolate littering his shirt front.

As his gaze hits Grantaire he visibly tenses.

Grantaire beams.

The guy closes his eyes for a beat too long, taking a deep breath and adopting a Customer Service Smile, “Welcome to Corinthe Cafe.” It’s his usual greeting, but it feels flat today.

Grantaire never could quite wrap his tongue around the name pinned to the guy’s chest, but he attempts it again anyway. “Enjnoras,”

The guy’s grin seems less forced. Small favours.

“You don’t seem your usual perky self today.”

“It’s been a day,” Enjolras says flatly, picking at the edge of the counter.

Grantaire hesitates, because while he only has one favourite barista, this guy has hundreds of customers. It’s not like they’re _friends_. “You ok?”

“I have whipped cream in my hair. And half a frappe in my shoes.” There’s a sardonic edge to his measured tone. “Just… be kind with your order. Please.”

It’s not in Grantaire to feel guilty about his order history. Monday had seen a Double Ristretto Half-Soy Iced Vanilla Frappucino, Tuesday had been the Triple Shot Caramel Affagato, Wednesday had been a Latte (but, like, make the picture in the foam look like Sonic the Hedgehog, yeah?). Still, he feels a pang of sympathy for the guy.

“I guess I could settle for a flat white,” he shrugs, fishing his wallet out of his pocket.

Enjolras freezes in his counter-picking, eyebrows raising as he looks up, “Really?”

“Sure,” Grantaire shrugs with feigned nonchalance. He’s been haunting this coffeeshop for weeks but still never knows how to handle the weight of that gaze.

“That’s… that’s-” the blond starts. A door at the end of the counter bursts open and the owner of the cafe swoops into the room. Enjolras abruptly straightens, voice too bright and too loud as he says “Fabulous. That’s fabulous.”

Grantaire muffles his snort, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Unless I reconsider..?”

“Not fabulous,” Enjolras hisses, squinting, but there’s definitely a grin hiding in the edges of that scowl. “Utterly _un_ fabulous.” 

Grantaire laughs as Enjolras passes him his change, depositing it in the tip jar and taking a seat at the counter. The door chime jangles as the owner leaves.

It’s hard not to stare as the blond moves swiftly to the monster of a coffee machine on the opposite bench. With the practiced ease of a man who’s probably done this four hundred times already today he fetches a bottle of milk, a bag of coffee beans and a new cup, tapping a button on the machine to flush away old grinds and twisting a knob that makes the steam wand hiss.

His hair crawls up to an eight and a half on the frizzy scale as the steam rises, though there’s a patch in the back that stays firm and shiny. Grantaire reminds himself that he needs to catch a morning shift one of these days to see those curls in all their pre steam-frizzed glory.

Enjolras measures out the coffee beans - face hidden but shoulders tight - that needlepoint focus he seems to treat every task with easily apparent. He doesn’t flinch as the electric grinder roars to life. The muscle in his forearm makes itself known as he tamps down the fresh grinds, and that’s when Grantaire has to look away.

“You know,” he hears himself say despite his dry mouth, “if this flat white turns out alright it might just become my new regular.”

“Don’t tease me,” Enjolras laughs. Grantaire glances back to catch Enjolras smirking over his shoulder. His heart stammers to a halt as their eyes meet, Enjolras’s expression softening as he turns back to watch the shot pour.

“Pressure’s on, Enlorax.”

The blond snorts, pouring milk into a small silver jug with one hand while his other blindly fetches a thermometer. “Shhh, I’m focussing. This is a very important coffee.”

Grantaire mimes zipping his mouth shut as the whir of steam-meeting-milk fills the silence between them. Enjolras wears a small smile as his thumb fiddles idly with the thermometer, and Grantaire is reminded of just how foolish he’d been to think of this as a passing infatuation.

Banging the jug on the bench twice before sitting it down, Enjolras fishes a sharpie from his apron to scrawl Grantaire’s name on the cup. Grantaire glances around the empty cafe with a pointedly raised brow but is stopped from commenting on it by a drawn out ‘shhhhhhhh’ from the blond pocketing his marker.

He pours the milk with an exaggerated flourish, puts a lid on the cup with more focus than one would think was required, and places the drink in front of a grinning Grantaire.

“You may speak.”

“How’d you manage to get whipped cream in the _back_ of your hair?” Grantaire blurts.  
  
“With great skill and determination.” Enjolras deadpans, though he’s definitely fighting a grin.

“Well, colour me impressed.” Grantaire murmurs, reaching for his drink and raising it to his lips.

“It’s hot,” Enjolras warns.

‘ _So are you_ ,’ Grantaire doesn’t say, settling instead for an exaggerated eyeroll as he lowers his cup and deepens his slouch. It means he has to crane his neck to pout up at Enjolras, but he hasn’t seen those cheekbones from this angle before, and that in itself is a crime. 

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. “If you burn your tongue you’re gonna blame the coffee and go back to ordering nonsense.”

“Why Enyolas,” Grantaire pauses a moment to wet his lower lip, grinning as the blond’s gaze drops to track the movement, “I never knew you cared so much about my tongue.”

It’s almost comical how quickly a blush shoots up Enjolras’s neck. “I- I- I-”

“Enjolras?”

The two at the counter spin to find the owner of the cafe rifling through her bag by the doorway.

“Fantine?”

“Did you see where I left the- oh!” She straightens as she notices Grantaire, eyes flicking between the two. “I didn’t realise we had a customer! My apologies Monsieur.”

“It’s fine,” Grantaire blurts, standing. “I was just leaving.”

“Don’t let me rush you away,” Fantine insists with a warm smile and a glance at Enjolras.

“It’s closing time, I’ll leave you to it.” He turns to collect his drink and finds Enjolras still furiously pink. “Thank you Monsieur.”

“Enjoy your coffee.” Enjolras says in that forced, bright voice.

“I always do.” Grantaire grins, earning a smile in return.

Grantaire nods to the owner as she holds the door for him, flipping the welcome sign to ‘closed’ as he exits.

It’s only as he steps out onto the street that he spots the ten digits neatly scrawled below the ‘R’ on the side of his cup. He nearly wears his drink as he tips it to investigate.

No one else on the busy sidewalk pays much attention to the fact that the fucking world is spinning as Grantaire digs his phone out of his pocket.

He types the number in, second-guesses himself eighteen times in the span of half a second and hits the green call button, spinning to look through the window of the cafe just in time to see Enjolras pull his phone out of his apron with a grin, watching the owner disappear into the back room before answering.

“Hello?” 

“Enjelbas,” Grantaire blurts, and fuck, that’s the worst attempt yet, “I really need to learn how to say your name.”

“You really do,” Enjolras laughs, spotting Grantaire in the window and shaking his head.

“Wanna teach me some time?” Grantaire feels emboldened by the delightful shade of red creeping up Enjolras’s neck. “Say, tomorrow? Over dinner? I’ll cook?”

“That sounds- yes. That would be-”

“Fabulous?”

Enjolras snorts. “Yeah, that’d be fabulous.”


End file.
